Bah! Humbug!
by wolverette
Summary: One of the winners to the 'I HEART ROGAN' community Christmas Challenge! The message read 'Wear this and come and find me'. Logan was never one to refuse a challenge, especially if his beloved Marie was waiting at the end of it! One-shot Rogan!


**Disclaimer: **I do not own the X-Men at all - although I _do_ own a rather sexy and bare-chested statue of Logan which lives on my bedside table!

'Bah! Humbug!' was written for the I Heart Rogan community Christmas challenge, in which we had to write a romance for Logan and Marie and include the following items: A Santa suit, Candy Canes, Ebenezer Scrooge, a bell, a cocktail shaker and something silk of our choice. This, then, is my entry for that challenge and I hope ya'll enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it!

Just for the record, I'll explain that the boathouse in the X-Men comics has been converted into a dwelling for those who wish to live separately from the main mansion - couples and the like - and is not used for storing boats! I have borrowed that idea for this story!

**ooXoo**

**Bah! Humbug!**

"Christmas?" Ebenezer Scrooge glares over the top of his desk at poor Bob Cratchit shivering below. "I have no use for Christmas. Bah! Humbug!"

"Amen ta that, bub!" I salute the television screen with my beer an' take a long slug, welcoming the feel o' the hard liquor slidin' down my throat. When it comes to Christmas, I could give Ebenezer Scrooge a good run for his money.

Don't get me wrong, I ain't a mean ol' bastard, although there are definitely some who would disagree with that assessment. I simply have no use for Christmas. Christmas is for families, an' lovers, an' for folks who have some sense o' divine intervention. Me? I ain't got any o' those. No family – none that's alive anyway, besides my loser of a brother, an' the less said about him the better. No lover – unless you count any o' the faceless women I take to my bed every once in a while. Hardly lover material. An' as for religion – well, if there is a God, he's given up on me a long time ago.

I usually take off at this time o' year – spend a couple o' quiet weeks at my cabin in Canada, well outta the way o' all the gushin' well wishers an' sparkly lights that make my head spin. By the time I return, everyone's got it all outta their system an' things are usually back to normal. Well, as normal as it gets around here, with a house full o' high powered mutants an' a jet hidden under the basketball court.

But this year is different. This year, nature has taken a hand in things an' the worst snowstorm in thirty years has hit Canada an' the northern states. Flights are cancelled an' the roads are all but impassable. Hell, half the flamin' country is on damn lockdown. Leavin' me stranded at Mutant High with a bunch o' flamin' hormonal kids.

We're the goddamn X-Men! We can take on the Brotherhood before breakfast an' never break a sweat an' yet we're grounded by snow? We have a weather witch on the team, for Chrissakes! Would it kill her to fix the weather just long enough for me to take the bike an' hightail it outta here? Evidently it would, 'cause she refused when I asked her. Doesn't like messin' with the weather any more than necessary, she said. _Shit._

I finish off the beer with a disgruntled snort an' reach for another, addin' the empty bottle to the growin' collection on the coffee table by my feet. Scrooge has just been visited by the first o' the Ghosts of Christmas. The way I'm feelin', I'll probably get a visit tonight too. Maybe I oughta introduce him to Mr Adamantium? See if that gives him a warm an' fuzzy Christmas feelin'?

I'm nursin' one hell of a mood when I scent Scooter outside in the hallway, an' my lips pull back in a feral grin. _Perfect!_ Nothin' like a spot o' Scott-bashin' to put a guy in a better frame o' mind.

"Hey, Logan. Still trying to catch that elusive hangover, huh?" Summers moves into the room to stand behind my chair an' I shift slightly to catch him in my peripheral vision. The gulp o' beer I have just taken is sprayed out all over the coffee table. "Still got the manners of a pig too, I see."

"Shit, Summers, ya coulda warned me!" I wipe beer off the front o' my shirt, glarin' up at the red an' be-whiskered figure hoverin' at the side o' my chair. "Ya tryin' ta get yerself gutted, or somethin'?"

"Only you could ever find Santa Claus even remotely threatening." Scott grins at me, totally unconcerned by his near miss with death an' helps himself to a candy cane that someone has thoughtfully left in a dish on the coffee table. I've been avoidin' 'em like the plague all evenin'. Too much sugar for my likin'. Rot yer teeth, they will.

"This a new fetish, or somethin'?" I indicate Scooter's Santa outfit with a tip o' my beer bottle, already bemoanin' the good beer splattered all over the table. "No, wait, don't tell me. New uniforms fer the festive season? Magneto's gonna laugh himself silly."

Scott's brow furrows in annoyance, the visor beneath the big red hood flashin' slightly with the force of his glare. The effect is dramatic an' strangely unsettlin'. "Logan, it's Christmas Eve. That fact can't have escaped even _your _alcohol ridden brain." He folds his arms an' rocks back on one foot, his head rollin' to the ceilin' as if askin' for strength from higher places. "If you'd ever cared to stick around for longer than ten minutes, you'd know that the Professor and I always go to the local orphanage on Christmas Eve to give out presents to the kids. It's become something of a tradition."

Summers is obviously pleased with this wholesome act o' givin', but my brain latches stubbornly onto one particular piece o' information an', like a terrier with a bone, absolutely refuses to let go.

"Wait a minute. Ya've been out?"

"Yes. Haven't I just said ……. ?"

"But the roads are snowed up."

"Oh, that. Well, Kurt 'bamfed' us over there and ……"

I bang my bottle down on the coffee table with enough force to send the beer foamin' up an' over the lip. "Kurt?" I spit back in disgust. "Kurt 'bamfed' ya? So why the hell am I still here an' not relaxin' in front of a roarin' fire after a rewardin' day's trackin'?"

"Oh, Logan, grow up." Summers obviously thinks he's impervious to adamantium in that red get-up o' his. Either that, or the candy cane's rotted his brain. "With all the will in the world, Kurt could hardly 'bamf' you all the way to Canada. It's too far." He considers my angry scowl for a moment an' then, unwisely, goes a step too far. "Look, I know I'll probably regret this, but why don't you join us all in the main lounge tonight instead of skulking alone in here? 'Ro's found the cocktail shaker and we're gonna have drinks and play charades and ……"

That's it. That's the final straw. I stand up abruptly an' Scooter takes an involuntary step back, obviously wonderin' if his will is up to date. With great effort, I school my expression into a moderate scowl an' pitch my voice dangerously low as I growl back an answer. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in my room. An' they'd better not need me."

So sayin', I stalk from the den, intendin' to put as much distance between myself an' the Christmas revellers as is reasonably possible in this crazy madhouse. I wonder if I could get the Drake boy to ice up my door until the new year …… ?

The Iceprick in question is in the hall, hangin' more baubles on the oversized tree that was erected there a couple o' weeks ago. Lord knows where all these flamin' decorations keep comin' from, but every time I go past, the tree is groanin' under the weight o' more bows an' bells. The electricity needed to keep all the lights glowin' must be drainin' at least five states ……

I intend stompin' past, but Drake gives me a grin as I draw level with the tree. "Hey, Mr Logan. Rogue was looking for you earlier. Did she find you?"

I shake my head, frownin'. "No, she didn't. Did she say what she wanted me for?"

"No, but she said to tell you that she'd be in her room if you came by."

I grin at this piece of information an' actually manage to give Drake a civil 'thanks' as I hightail it up the stairs. Rogue is the one person in the whole outfit who can actually make me feel good about myself – who can reach down deep inside where it matters an' restore my soul. She's my lifeline in this crazy world – my rock. She grounds me to reality the way nothing' else can an', crazy as it sounds, I love her for that. She's also got this poison skin that can take down just about anybody it comes into contact with. Hurts like hell an' gives ya a devil of a headache for a couple o' hours. I know, 'cause I've had first hand experience of it a couple o' times. Only problem is, Rogue an' me – _Marie – _well, we've been growin' kinda close lately. Not the declarin' undyin' love kinda close, but the sorta close that comes between two people who are comfortable sharin' each other's company. That doesn't mean I wouldn't want it to _become _the other kind o' close. We've shared cuddles on the couch once or twice while watchin' late night movies, an' I even managed to steal a kiss once through a silk scarf, but her mutation pretty much puts a stop to any thought o' takin' those kisses further, or for findin' out what her delicious curves feel like without the hindrance o' clothes. Which, strangely enough, is exactly where my thoughts have been wanderin' of late. It's getting' harder an' harder to look on her as just a friend an' team-mate, especially when her eyes are sendin' me secret little messages when no one else is lookin'.

Messages which seem to suggest that she's wishin' _her _hands could do a little wanderin' too ……

Reachin' her bedroom door, I open it without knockin' an' stalk inside, expectin' to see my Marie beam up at me from her lap-top, or shout a greetin' from the bathroom where she is dryin' her hair. But her room is empty an', from the scent o' things, she hasn't been around for a couple o' hours at least. _Dammit!_

I'm about to leave when I see a bright object lyin' on the bed. It wasn't there when I dropped by just after lunch an' curiosity prompts me to cross the remainin' floor space between the door an' bed in four long strides an' pick it up.

Well, whaddaya know? Turns out if's fer me. A little gift card fastened to glittery paper adorned with little silver stars says '_Logan. Open me." _Well, okay then, if you insist.

I give the package a little shake first, just to try an' get a clue as to what it might be. It feels soft an' squishy, but nothin' rattles or sloshes, so it's safe to bet that I can't drink it. _Shit! _There goes my hope for some o' those cigars I like, too.

The package is wrapped with Marie's practised eye for pretty detail, but I soon make short work o' that, slidin' out a single claw to slice through paper an' ribbon alike. Inside is a silk scarf, in Marie's favourite shade o' forest green with black fringin'. It's certainly not my normal attire – hell, I can't even remember the last time I wore a scarf – but it looks expensive an' when I catch sight o' my name embroidered in gold near the fringin' I realise she's obviously put a lot o' thought into this. It's distinctly Marie an' I'm genuinely touched by the personal gesture.

As I shake the scarf out, another small card flutters to the floor an' I stoop to pick it up, findin' it etched with Marie's neat hand.

_Wear this and come and find me._

Ooh, a challenge! Well, that's more like it! My lips draw back in a feral grin at the prospect of a good hunt an', despite the fact that my prey is Marie, I can already feel the adrenalin pumpin'. I'm a feral. We were born to track. An' once again, Marie has come to my rescue by providin' a distraction to all the sickly sweetness goin' on around me.

I drop the wrappin' on the bed, loop the scarf around my neck an' stride from the room, fillin' my senses with the intoxicatin' sweetness that is Marie as I go. Her scent is all around me, heady an' inticin', an' it's not hard to track her to the ground floor, where I pause to pinpoint her exact direction. The kids an' various members o' the teachin' staff have been through here on a regular basis since Marie passed by an' I close my eyes to concentrate on sortin' through the jumble o' scents, finally pickin' out the one I know as well as my own an' keepin' tight hold of it. Trustin' in my senses to keep me out o' harm's way, I step forward, still with my eyes closed, allowin' the scent to lead me through the mansion in pursuit of my quarry.

My face hits somethin' hard enough to break my nose an' I stumble back, cursin' up a blue streak as my healin' factor kicks in, an' I find myself starin' at the wood panelled wall outside the library. _What the …… ?_

There's a note pinned to the wall just about where my face made contact with it an' I lean forward, once again recognisin' Marie's neat writin'.

_You'll have to try harder than that, sugar._

For a moment I stare at it stupidly an' then my lips curl into a lopsided grin as clarity crashes home.

My Marie – my beautiful, enigmatic and totally genius Marie – has only gone an' absorbed Kitty's power so that she can phase through the goddamn mansion!

I begin to chuckle – the little minx knows me so well. But then, she's got a part o' me permanently lodged in that pretty head o' hers, no doubt eggin' her on in his own growly an' domineerin' way, suggestin' ways to challenge me an' win the battle o' the Alpha males. Isn't the fact that he's permanently a part o' Marie in a way I could never be enough for him? He sees a side o' Marie I will never see an' shares her life more completely than I will ever be able to imagine.

Okay. So now I'm startin' to feel jealous of a psychic projection o' myself. This is seriously startin' to freak me out.

I push away from the wall and begin to track Marie's scent in earnest, sortin' through the backwash to pick out the one sweet note I am searchin' for, wanderin' through the hallways with no regard to how I must look with that intense expression on my face, an' drawin' wary glances from a couple o' kids I encounter outside the Professor's study. I'm guessin' it won't be long before Scooter hears the news that the Wolverine has lost it again.

I finally locate her scent again outside the dinin' room, lose it in the kitchen an' have to backtrack a couple o' hallways, take a brief detour around the rec room an' the garage, before findin' myself standin' on the front porch, with her scent pointin' me unerringly out across the mansion grounds.

It's snowin' again an' big fluffy flakes are fallin' gently from an overcast sky to add to the wintery blanket already coverin' the ground. Marie's scent leads out into the blackness, seemin' almost ethereal in its presence an' I guess she was phasin' as she passed by, an idea that gains credence when I notice there are no footprints in the snow. She's obviously not inclined to make this easy for me an' I growl softly as I step off the porch into the gatherin' wet stuff. This had better be worth all the trouble, or there's goin' to be a reckonin', no doubt about it.

Images o' pressin' Marie against the trunk of a tree an' stealin' a kiss in payment for draggin' me out here in this god-awful weather spurs me on to greater speed. I can see my new scarf is gonna come in real handy ……

The night is eerily quiet around me as I trudge across the snow-covered lawns, Marie's scent leadin' me a merry dance as it winds back an' forth – through Storm's rose garden, around the greenhouse an' out towards the pool, before skirtin' back to loop around the basketball court. In no time at all my jeans are soaked up to the knees an' water is beginnin' to seep into my boots. You'd think I'd be used to the snow by now, bein' from Canada an' all, but the cold insinuates itself into my body, usin' my metal bones as a conduit for its insidious effects. I can literally freeze from the inside out.

In the middle o' the Japanese garden I suddenly lose the scent, turnin' full circle, castin' this way an' that, desperately seekin' any sign o' my prey an' not findin' any. _Dammit! _She musta phased completely, cancellin' out her scent. But why? Why go to all this trouble to lead me out here only to leave me without further tracks in the middle o' nowhere? It doesn't make sense.

An' then I hear it. The soft tinklin' of a bell, soundin' through the icy air with perfect clarity. I twist instantly in the direction o' the sound, settin' off at a jog towards the trees that surround Xavier's property, the tiny insistent ring drawin' me onwards like a beacon in the dark.

An' so begins a game o' cat an' mouse, as that little bell leads me ever deeper into the trees, sometimes soundin' near enough to reach out an' touch an' then fadin' away until even _my _enhanced hearin' has trouble pickin' it out from the gentle sighin' o' the wind in the trees. An' every time I think I've lost the trail, Marie's scent pulls me back an' sets me on the right course again, until the moment I realise with certainty that I'm headin' for the boathouse.

I pick up the pace then an' the little bell – my constant companion in this world of swirlin' white – instantly disappears as if forewarned of my intentions. But I'm sure of my destination now an', as I dodge between the trees headin' for the lake, a glimmer o' light in the distance beckons me on an' sets my pulse racin'.

The snow crunches beneath my boots as I step out of the tree-line an' walk across the clearin' towards the boathouse. The ground floor window is awash with soft light, evidence that someone is waitin', an' I growl low in my throat as anticipation stirs my blood.

The door opens easily at my touch an' I step inside, pausin' a moment to let my eyes adjust to the light comin' from hundreds o' candles placed around the room – on the mantle shelf, the coffee table, the floor – every conceivable surface holds a candle in a small glass container, fillin' the room with flickerin' light. A fire crackles in the hearth, castin' dancin' shadows on the fur rug laid before it an' my breath catches in my throat as the true meanin' behind Marie's little game becomes clear an' I realise that I am the prey, not her.

Her scent is all around me, tantalisingly close, an' my eyes are drawn to the top o' the stairs as a figure steps onto the first riser, literally takin' my breath away.

"Hey, sugah," she whispers, in a tone seductive enough to make my body shiver with pleasure. "Ah see you found me."

She begins to move slowly down the stairs an' my eyes follow her as though attracted by magnets. Her hand rests lightly on the banister as she descends, her posture perfectly accentuating the curves not quite concealed by the little black dress she is wearin'. Stoppin' just above the knee, it hugs in all the right places an' reveals far more shapely leg than I am accustomed to seein' on Marie. Not that I'm complainin', mind you. The upper bodice and shoulders of the dress are made of black lace sewn with little seed pearls, the delicate material givin' a tantalisin' glimpse o' the creamy skin beneath.

She reaches the bottom o' the stairs an' sashays towards me, her eyes capturin' mine an' sayin' more than words ever could. Her hand comes up to brush a stray lock o' hair over her shoulder an' I notice then a tiny little gold bell attached to a bracelet.

She stops just feet away from me an' I rock back slightly, overwhelmed by the incredible weight of her presence. She is far more sure o' herself – far more confident – than I have ever seen her before an', when I breathe her scent, the heady mix o' want and need almost sends me to my knees.

She simply looks back at me, her eyes rovin' around my body as if tryin' to commit this moment to memory an' I know that I have to say somethin' – anythin' – to break the silence before I lose myself completely an' take her luscious lips for my own.

I point to the little bell hangin' on her bracelet. "I followed yer bell," I blurt out, stupidly, an' then give myself a mental kick in the head. _Oh, fer god's sake …… !_ Could I actually sound any more lame than I already do?

She smiles at me, her whole face simply lightin' up with joy. "That's really good, Logan," she whispers, softly, sendin' those shivers cascadin' down my spine again. Does this woman realise what she does to me? "Ah wanted to give you your Christmas present," she explains, silkily. "But ah really wanted the moment to be special, so ah arranged this ….." She gestures around the candlelit room.

My eyes follow the movement of her hand, then drop down to focus on my name on the scarf. "I thought _this_ was my Christmas present?" I ask in confusion.

She laughs then, a gentle musical sound that tugs at my heart an' makes me wanna howl with joy. "Ah bought the scarf because ah though you might like it," she tells me, her eyes almost glowin' in the soft light. "But ah brought you _here_ to give you your main present – something ah think you'll like even more."

"Yeah?" My voice is steady but, inside, my heart is poundin'. I can feel it thumpin' painfully against my ribs. This whole set-up – the secluded location, the candlelight, Marie's appearance an' scent – it's all beginnin' to fall into place, an' I can hardly believe what my senses are tellin' me. Marie – my sweet, innocent an' shy Marie – is tryin' to …… _seduce _me?

My breath catches in my throat as she steps nearer an' before I can react, she leans in an' presses her lips to mine.

The door at my back prevents me from retreatin' an' I jerk as her little hands fist into my hair, expectin' to feel the deadly sizzle of her power drainin' me, leechin' my memories, my lifeforce. But there is no lethal pull an' when she draws back to smile up at me, shyly, my mouth drops open in surprise.

"Marie? What …… ?"

She reaches out to take my hand, gently tracin' the line o' my knuckles with one finger. "Ah can control it, Logan," she tells me, breathlessly. "My skin isn't dangerous anymore. Ah can touch you."

To prove the point, she places her hand against my cheek, an' I reach up to take it in my own, pressin' a kiss into her palm as she watches with wonderment in her eyes. "How long have you known?" There are a thousand questions in my heart, but I decide to start slow.

"Just over three weeks." She breathes out a soft sigh at the feel of my whiskers tickling her hand, overwhelmed by the heady sense of touch so long denied her. "Ah didn't want to tell you until ah was sure ah could sustain the control. Ah wanted it to be a surprise. Something special between the two of us."

Her eyes flutter downwards, suddenly shy now, and she bites her lip nervously, unsure of my reaction – of whether her feelin's are reciprocated or if she's just made the biggest mistake of her life. Nothin' could be the further from the truth. I've wanted this girl since the day she sat in my camper an' finished off the last o' my beef jerky. And now ….. _Christ, Marie, I can touch ya ……_

My hand goes out to brush that startlin' white lock o' hair back from her face an' she trembles at my tentative touch. "C'mere, darlin' ……"

She leans into my embrace willingly an' our lips come together with an urgency long denied us. Once again, her hand wanders into my hair, pullin' gently at my crests an' when I hear a low moan I'm startled to recognise it as my own. Her other hand rests against the small o' my back, thumb tracin' tiny circles that I can feel as burnin' heat even through the fabric o' my shirt. _Oh, Christ, Marie ……_

When my hand skims up her ribcage to brush softly against the plump roundness of her breast, she jerks back from me, her face flushed an' her breath comin' in short, lustful gasps.

"Ah'll …… err …… ah'll go an' change into somethin' more comfortable." Well, that's a cliché I never thought I'd hear in my lifetime, but I'm not complainin' as I get to watch Marie's shapely ass as she sashays up the stairs. I growl softly in anticipation o' gettin' my hands on those rounded curves.

By the time she returns, wearin' a shimmerin' black negligee, I have poured two glasses o' wine from the bottle I found coolin' in ice on the coffee table an' arranged myself artfully on the fur rug in front o' the fire.

I am wearin' Marie's scarf ……

…… and _only _the scarf.

Her eyes widen at the sight o' me an' I flip the fringin' at her. "Ya did say ta wear this an' come find ya," I remind her, with a quirk o' my eyebrow.

"So ah did." She settles beside me an' I pull her over on top o' me as I crush my lips to hers, drinkin' in the sweet taste o' her, revellin' in the feel o' her in my arms as I give serious attention to unwrappin' my Christmas present ……

As our bodies begin to move together in the slow sensual dance o' love I'm reminded o' the movie I was watchin' earlier an' my lips quirk in a slow smile. I could really get to like this thing called Christmas …..

…… An' somehow I don't think I'll be gettin' a visit from the Ghost o' Christmas Past tonight …….

_**Finis**_


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